A Beam of Light

by Andrea Camilleri

  “It won’t be easy, but I can try.”

  “Get on it right away.”

  “Oh, there was something I wanted to tell you. Di Marta’s supermarket reopens tomorrow.”

  “Was it closed?”

  “Yes.”

  “So who’s going to manage it?”

  “Di Marta had his lawyer give his wife power of attorney.”

  “Does di Marta have other properties as well?”

  “The guy’s loaded, Chief. He owns warehouses, homes, land, fishing boats . . .”

  Augello shuffled back in around seven.

  “Got any news for us?”

  “Yes. As I said, I went to Valeria’s at four. She received me in a state of undress, wearing only a little bathrobe that opened up when she walked, showing her panties and bra.”

  “In battle gear.”

  “That’s exactly right. But since she’s careful only to dole it out in small doses, she didn’t take me into the bedroom. We stayed on the sofa doing everything you can possibly do without doing the main thing. She has remarkable control; she was always able to stop me in time.”

  “But did she tell you anything?”

  “Salvo, you’ve got to believe me, the girl’s a master. She mentioned some package she was going to give me but which wasn’t for me personally. When I asked her who I was supposed to give it to, she started laughing. But she explained that I wasn’t supposed to give it to anyone or even show it to anyone. I was simply supposed to put it somewhere without being seen. If I was discovered, I could be in grave danger. When I asked what was in the package, she said it was better if I didn’t know. At any rate, I told her I would do it.”

  “And when is she going to give you this package?”

  “She said she didn’t have it with her. But she’s having it brought to her tonight.”

  “Are you going back there for dinner?”

  “No, for lunch tomorrow. She has to go out tonight.”

  “Maybe to pick up the package?”

  “Dunno.”

  15

  At eight o’clock sharp he left the station and sped home to Marinella. The evening was more than perfect for eating outside. When he went to open the refrigerator, he froze.

  Not because of what he saw inside, which he hadn’t had the time even to take in, but because of what had unexpectedly flashed through his mind, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  Where the hell was he keeping his head? What the hell was happening inside his brain?

  Rhetorical questions, of course, since he knew perfectly well what was going on in his brain and where his head was: It was in Milan, with Marian.

  And that was why he’d made a mistake as big as a house—actually, as big as a skyscraper.

  So what could he do now to set things right? There was only one solution. To go personally in person.

  He had to inform Marian at once. Upon hearing his voice, Marian sounded surprised.

  “Ciao, Inspector. To what do I owe—”

  “Sorry, I just wanted to say good night.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At home, but I’m on my way out.”

  “Why, where are you going?”

  “I’ve got some work to do tonight.”

  “What time will you be back?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “So I can’t call you later?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be here.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you in a hurry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then till tomorrow, Inspector.”

  “Till tomorrow.”

  He prepared some coffee while hurriedly changing his clothes, putting on a pair of trousers with pockets all over, in which he put his cell phone, cigarettes, a book, a lighter, a flask of whisky, and a small thermos which he filled with the coffee he’d just made.

  Then he donned a hunter’s jacket and put a beret on his head and a pair of binoculars around his neck.

  Then he made two sandwiches, one with salami and the other with provolone. Luckily Adelina had bought new provisions. He grabbed a half-bottle of wine and put everything in the pockets of the jacket.

  He went out, got in the car, and drove back to Vigàta.

  Destination: Via Palermo, number 28.

  Valeria Bonifacio had said two important things to Augello: that she would be getting the package that night, and that she had to go out after dinner.

  The easiest thing would have been to have her followed and find out who she was meeting with. But he’d forgotten to give anyone this order, lost as he was in thoughts of Marian.

  And so it was up to him to do what he’d neglected to tell someone else to do.

  Via Palermo seemed to belong to another world. Indeed, one could park wherever one wanted. He pulled up right in front of her house, but on the opposite side of the street. There were two windows lit up, a sign that Valeria was still at home.

  He pulled out a sandwich, the one with provolone, and started eating it. Instead of satisfying his appetite, it only made him hungrier. And so the salami sandwich met the same fate as its counterpart. He finished the wine and fired up a cigarette.

  Some fifteen minutes later, seeing that nothing was happening, he started up the car and, in reverse, moved it under a streetlamp. From this position, the two windows were less visible and seen from the side, but still visible.

  At half past eleven the two lights went out. He shut his book and set it down on the passenger’s seat, ready to drive off.

  Another ten minutes passed without anything happening. He started wondering whether Valeria might have gone to bed, in which case the whole thing would have been for naught. Or maybe she went to get her car. But where did she keep it?

  He couldn’t remember whether, when he’d gone to Bonifacio’s house, he’d checked to see if there was a garage in back.

  He saw a car come out from the street parallel to the house, but it was too dark to make out the person behind the wheel. Luckily at that moment another car drove by fast and lit up the first car for a moment with its headlights. There was no question: It was Valeria.

  She drove slowly, making it easy for the inspector to follow her. If she started speeding there was no way he’d be able to keep up with her. Valeria took the Montereale road, driving past Marinella.

  Hadn’t De Nicola said that the call that Valeria had cut off came from the Montereale area?

  But they didn’t quite get to the town itself. About a quarter mile from the first houses, Valeria turned right onto a dirt road. It was a dark night, with almost no moonlight. Montalbano cursed the saints and, turning off his headlights, followed behind her, keeping a safe distance.

  He couldn’t see a thing and was afraid that at any moment he might end up in a gutter or ditch.

  Suddenly he no longer saw the lights of Valeria’s car. She’d stopped. It would have been too dangerous to get any closer in his car. She might hear it and get suspicious. He saw a sort of public fountain to his left and steered the car around and pulled up behind it. He locked the car and continued on foot.

  After walking for about ten minutes he noticed a white glow up ahead. It was an open area in front of a stone quarry. Valeria had stopped her car there. He could see the red dots of her taillights.

  At that moment he heard another car approaching. Montalbano quickly jumped off the road, hiding behind a large tree.

  The second car went and pulled up alongside Valeria’s. Meanwhile she’d gotten out of her car and was square in the path of the other car’s headlights, which were promptly extinguished, though the driver left the parking lights on. There was now a man standing beside Valeria. They exchanged no greeting but immediately started talking. Montalbano could hear them but couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  They were two sil
houettes whose faces remained indistinguishable. The man, however, must have been a good six feet tall. Montalbano tried his night binoculars, but they didn’t help much.

  His only option was to try to get closer, walking blindly in the dark and trying to make as little noise as possible. It wasn’t easy, and he stumbled twice on tree roots and another time put his left foot in a deep hole full of water, soaking his leg to above the knee. All this without being able to curse the saints to let off steam.

  At last he was able to make out a few phrases, not because he’d come that much closer, but because the two had started raising their voices.

  “But . . . what on earth . . . thinking?” said the man.

  “. . . listen . . . ,” said Valeria.

  “I wouldn’t give it to you . . . even . . . rted crying.”

  “But don’t you . . . ize that if . . . succeeds . . . and the police . . . find . . . Marta is fucked for . . . and you . . . free?”

  “And if . . . doesn’t? How can you . . . st this lawyer?”

  “. . . feel I . . . trust him.”

  “But who ca . . . you feel! My ass! Anyway, I . . . into the sea.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m telling you . . . I threw it into the sea.”

  At that moment Montalbano sneezed.

  “What was that?” Valeria cried.

  Montalbano sneezed again.

  Without saying a word, the man was already in his car and driving away.

  Sneeze number three.

  Now it was Valeria who was running away. In the end fourteen straight sneezes left him in a daze. He must have inhaled some sort of pollen he was allergic to. Or maybe it was due to the liter of cold water he had in his left shoe. At least none of his men were around to see him make such an ass of himself. He walked back to his car and drove home. Clearly the man had not agreed to Valeria’s plan. And he had no intention of giving her what she wanted. Or he could no longer give it to her. Something that could have fucked di Marta for good. But who was this man? Perhaps the same man Valeria hadn’t wanted to talk to over the telephone?

  And, speaking of telephones, how had Valeria managed to contact him and set up an appointment at the quarry? Clearly she’d used neither her cell phone nor her land line.

  The first thing he did when he got to the office was call Officer De Nicola. This was not an easy task. He had to jump through numerous hoops, but in the end he got through to him.

  “I’ll take just a few seconds of your time. Did Signora Bonifacio either make or receive any phone calls from six-thirty onwards yesterday evening?”

  “I think she made just one. If you can wait just a minute, I’ll go and check.”

  “Please take your time and tell me what was said. I can wait.”

  He had to count up to 658.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m all ears, De Nicola.”

  “Signora Bonifacio called a certain Nina from her land line at six-fifty p.m., telling her she needed her because she’d had to invite some people to dinner at the last minute and needed Nina’s help with the cooking. She had to insist because Nina didn’t feel well. I also wanted to mention, sir, that at eight o’clock this morning she made a long call to a certain Diego, whose cell phone number is—”

  “Never mind, that one’s not important. Thanks.”

  Why had she called Mimì at eight o’clock? Maybe it was because the man she’d met the previous night hadn’t agreed to do what she had in mind.

  But the important thing was that the reason she’d given for needing this Nina was a lie. There hadn’t been any dinner with guests, and therefore Nina’s presence must have been needed for some other purpose. Perhaps they’d even spoken in code.

  Mimì Augello showed up at half past nine, and to judge from his face, he looked rather crestfallen.

  “She dumped me,” he said, sitting down.

  “Valeria dumped you?”

  “She called me at eight this morning and kept me on for half an hour. She said our affair ended here and she didn’t feel like taking it any further, she couldn’t do that to her husband, she was an honest woman, after all . . . She was so convincing, I very nearly thought she was telling the truth. At any rate, there was no changing her mind.”

  “Mimì, I think you’re losing your touch, if women are starting to ditch you at the first opportunity,” said the inspector, just to be an asshole.

  “I guess I am,” Mimì assented disconsolately.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Fazio said, entering.

  “Have you heard the news?” Montalbano asked him. “Valeria doesn’t want anything more to do with our good Inspector Augello.”

  “And why not?”

  Mimì was about to reply, but the inspector raised his hand to stop him.

  “I’ll answer that question.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” said Mimì.

  “Why?”

  “Because you just like to make fun of me.”

  “I assure you the explanation is entirely in your favor.”

  “Okay, then, let’s hear it.”

  “Valeria broke up with the Don Juan here present because she was never given the package she was supposed to hand over to him.”

  “And how do you know that?” asked Mimì.

  Montalbano recounted the whole story of his adventure of the previous night, leaving out the minor detail of his sneezing. The immediate effect was to bring a smile back to Augello’s face.

  “So she dumped me because she didn’t need me anymore.”

  “And not because your manly gifts were wanting,” said Montalbano. “You can take comfort.”

  And he continued:

  “I want you to try to remember something, Mimì: Did Valeria ever happen to mention a certain Nina to you?”

  “Nina? No, never,” said Augello.

  “Maybe it’s the name of her cleaning lady,” a pensive Fazio cut in.

  “Look into it. Meanwhile, have you found out anything new?”

  “Not much. This Valeria naturally has many acquaintances, but only one true friend, Loredana. If she ever goes to the movies, it’s always with her. If she has to go to Montelusa to buy herself a dress or a pair of good shoes, she goes with her friend. They are never apart. They’re like Siamese twins.”

  “No men?”

  “An elderly lady—but one with good vision—who lives in the house almost directly across from her and sits at her window in a wheelchair all day every day told me that until about two months ago, a man would come and visit Valeria three times a week, always in the afternoon. Then, about two months ago, he stopped coming and hasn’t been seen since. According to her, they had a quarrel, a nasty one. When the man was leaving, the last time he came, Valeria stuck her head out the window and started yelling obscenities at him and told him never to come back.”

  “And how old was this man?” asked Montalbano.

  “Maybe twenty-five, max.”

  “Maybe a lover,” Augello commented.

  “I asked the old lady,” said Fazio. “She said she didn’t think so.”

  “How could she possibly know? It’s not as if she can see all the way inside their house, is it?”

  “No, but sometimes Valeria would come out with him and walk him to his car. According to the woman, they didn’t say good-bye the way lovers do.”

  “Then maybe he’s a relative,” said Augello.

  “She doesn’t have any. No brothers or sisters, no cousins.”

  “What strikes me most,” said Montalbano, “is the regularity.”

  “In what sense?” asked Augello.

  “That he went there three times a week and always in the afternoon. It’s a kind of standing appointment.”

  He paused, then looked at Fazio.

  �
��Did she tell what days of the week?”

  “Yes, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

  He had an idea.

  “Can you go back and talk to her again?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ask her whether Loredana was also there when this man came to Valeria’s, and explain to her what she looks like.”

  He turned to Augello and continued:

  “Mimì, I still need your brazen face.”

  “What for?”

  “Starting this morning, Loredana will reopen the supermarket, which has been closed because there’s been nobody to manage it, and she’ll probably be filling in for her husband. So starting now, she’ll have to be there mornings and afternoons.”

  “So?”

  “So you have to go and talk to her.”

  “On what pretext?”

  “Tell her that you’re desperate, that you want to kill yourself, that you realize that without Valeria, you’re finished, ruined. And ask her to intervene on your behalf.”

  “And what if she says no?”

  “If she says no, you’ve at least established a relationship with Loredana. It’s better than nothing.”

  “I’ll go there now.”

  “No, it’s too early, let her get oriented first. Show up there around four, in tears, when the store reopens. And we’ll all meet back here at five. Let’s go, guys, the solution may be just around the corner.”

  As soon as he sat down on the flat rock after having eaten and drunk, he noticed that this time there were two crabs waiting there for him. Maybe they were brothers.

  Valeria has no brothers or sisters.

  Maybe the crabs were brother and sister. How do you tell a male crab from a female crab?

  As he was tossing little sea pebbles at the crabs, a thought whirled around inside his head.

  It was something that someone had said concerning Valeria. Something that at the time hadn’t seemed important to him. But maybe it was. The problem was that he couldn’t bring it into focus.